


Coquette

by WhatBecomesOfYou



Category: Cheers (TV)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-12-13
Updated: 2013-12-13
Packaged: 2017-12-30 09:16:29
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,148
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1016840
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WhatBecomesOfYou/pseuds/WhatBecomesOfYou
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“On October 28, Sam and Diane fought about whether to watch Matlock or Who’s the Boss. The battle raged for four hours. The sex was fantastic.”</p>
            </blockquote>





	Coquette

**Author's Note:**

  * For [inkspl0tches](https://archiveofourown.org/users/inkspl0tches/gifts).



Diane twirled around in the mirror. The soft turquoise silk teddy seemed to float on her like a cloud, and she nodded approvingly at her reflection.

The best part of fighting with Sam was  _always_  the making up. Because they could fight for hours – and she would be right about whatever they were fighting about, of course, because a world in which Sam could be right about something very often was not a world that she wanted to live in, despite how much she really  _did_  love him, Carla’s multitude of cries to the contrary – and then go for just as many hours in bed.

If not longer.

She twirled once more, and self-satisfyingly primped her hair once, twice, and batted her eyelashes coquettishly. Her reflection only mirrored her reaction, and served to affirm what she was doing.

She could buy out every lingerie store in Boston of their seductive nightwear, and keep it in a rotation, for nights like this. Every shade of pastel in the color wheel, from seafoam green to bubblegum pink and luscious lavender, would be represented, each one equally tantalizing to Sam’s gaze.

She couldn’t even remember what their fight tonight was about. Not anymore. Not that it was really important, because it wasn’t. It was just a footnote in the never-ending saga that was their relationship. “On October 28, Sam and Diane fought about whether to watch  _Matlock_  or  _Who’s the Boss_. The battle raged for four hours. The sex was fantastic.” The sex was always fantastic, though, so that wasn’t the point. The point is that they could fight over anything from the most minute of daily travails to something actually major and potentially relationship-altering, and still happily roll into bed at the end of it.

Hopefully this little number would hold the fights at bay for just that night, if not longer.

She took one last curtsy to her reflection, dipping low, catching her gaze as she rose back up and fluffed her hair one last time – the amount of hairspray she used was one area they had actually never fought about, come to think of it. She wouldn’t need a shot of the strongest liquor that Cheers had tonight, not when she knew exactly what was on the other side of that door. She needed courage for a lot of things – courage to make the relationship work, which was something that she worked on daily – but this wasn’t one. She walked out into the living room, one hand on her hip, the other swaying against her side. “Hello, Sam,” she said, her voice low and seductive.

“Di –  _whoa_  – ane,” he said, turning to look at her as he said her name. He took in how she looked, his eyes traveling the curves of her body. “You always know how to make a man – and by a man I mean _me_  – very happy.”

She smiled and stood on her tiptoes and twirled, batting her eyelashes at him and cocking her head, much as she had practiced moments before. “You like what you see?” She knew which buttons to push by now to make him squirm in the most pleasant and fascinating of ways, and she intended to push them all in quick succession tonight.

“I more than like,” he said, standing up and taking her into his arms. She dipped her back low over his arm, so that she was practically draped over him like a yard of fabric, and tilted her head up to face him. “In fact,” he ran his thumb along the impossibly thin shoulder strap, tweaking at it, “I really, really love.” She bit back a shudder. His touch was impossibly good. Then again, this was Sam she was talking about. _Everything_ that he did was impossibly good. At least when it came to her.

“The store clerk said I looked good in turquoise.” She silently thanked the girl who had helped her pick this one out – she’d have to return, for the next time that her shop’s services were required. Give her a little bit of commission as thanks for the great work she did.

“You’d look good in anything. Have you ever considered wearing a wine barrel? I could use you as free advertising for the bar.”

“You wouldn’t  _dare_.” Her eyes burned with indignant fire, and she allowed her head to drop back down, feeling the subsequent rush of blood to her temples.

“No, you’re right, I wouldn’t,” he said, sliding the strap down her shoulder, allowing it to fall loose on the top of her arm, “because I don’t want all of Boston to see what I see. And barrels don’t leave very much to the imagination.”

“No, they don’t.” She had to agree with that, and not just because he had admitted, for once, that she was right. Not that she ever wanted to wear a barrel. She didn’t cherish the thought of getting splinters where no splinters should ever be. She preferred the finer things in life, but even a girl accustomed to drinking the finest French champagne in delicate glass flutes could get down and dirty with a little firebrand American whiskey now and again. Maybe even grow a taste for it, despite what she once would have thought to the contrary.

He crooked one finger under her chin and dragged her head up to meet his. “And I like what I see. Don’t you ever forget that,” he said, closing his lips over hers. She let out a tiny little grunt of surprise, because even though by all rights, she should have expected it – she should expect anything with Sam, she should know this by now, because together they were dynamite, unpredictable and ready to blow – she really, really hadn’t been, this time. His tongue ran along her lower lip, skimming the border of her lips, and she breathed out tiny little breaths of pure, unadulterated lust. She threw her arms around his neck, and threw her weight into his arms.

No matter what happened between them, for better or for worse, she trusted that he would never let her fall. No matter how many times they did this. No matter how many times they argued, or bickered. No matter if she was right, or the moon was blue and he was.

He hefted her further up in his arms, and she cradled his neck in her hands as he carried her into the bedroom. And as he laid her down on the bed and ran his hands along the curves of her sides, biting back a moan of her name, she had never felt more sexy or more alive.

She'd say it was because this or that, some indescribable feeling that bubbled in her chest, but it all came down to: she had Sam, and she liked it that way.

And that's all there was to it.


End file.
